


Fevers & Fears

by Dragon_MoonX



Series: Scabior's Rose - In Sickness & In Health [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Minor Surgery, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-13
Updated: 2015-11-03
Packaged: 2018-04-26 06:26:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4993738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragon_MoonX/pseuds/Dragon_MoonX
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Scabior gets appendicitis, he doesn't recognize the symptoms and tries his best to hide it from his wife. But refusing treatment is not an option. And Draconius soon learns the truth behind his refusal to seek medical care when he's ill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to Anna Fay for helping me come up with some great ideas for this story. The magical leech treatment and Scabior's phobia was entirely her idea. So thank you, Anna. You've been a big help.
> 
> I'd also like to thank alyssialui for letting me use one of her spells in this story. Later on in this story, a spell will be used that makes the skin transparent, allowing the healer to see inside the body. That was alyssialui's idea.

The early morning sunlight was just beginning to shine through the trees. A pale sliver of light shown between the flap on Scabior's tent, casting its light on the two figures sleeping in bed.

Scabior rolled over in his sleep, placing an arm around his wife as she slept peacefully beside him. A smile creased the corners of her mouth, and her eyes slowly fluttered open.

She watched him for a moment while he slept, his chest rising and falling with deep, easy breathing. Strands of red and brown hair hung down across his face, his mouth slightly open as he slept. He looked so beautiful, lying there asleep with a thin ray of sun shining across his face, highlighting the red streak in his hair. 

Draconius played with his tangled tresses, letting the soft strands wrap around her fingers before easing his hair out of his face. "Scabior," she said softly. "It's morning, sweetie. Time to wake up."

Her husband shifted slightly, yawning as he stretched his legs beneath the soft burgundy sheets.

"Good morning," said Draconius, watching as her husband's grey-blue eyes opened and gazed at her in the early dawn sunlight.

Scabior leaned forward and placed a kiss on her lips. "Morning, love."

"Well, aren't you feeling affectionate," Draconius said with a smile.

Their lips met and they began to kiss, until Scabior suddenly backed away, wincing as he held his stomach.

"What's wrong?" Draconius asked.

There was a dull ache in the area of his navel. Scabior hadn't noticed it right away until a sudden abdominal cramp drew his attention away from his wife.

"It's nothing, pet," he said, massaging his belly in an attempt to ease his stomachache. "Bit of a mild stomach cramp is all."

Draconius sat up in bed. "Would you like me to get breakfast started? Or do you want to take your morning shower first?"

"Neither," Scabior replied. He gently eased her back down onto her side so she was facing him in bed. "Let's 'ave a bit of a lie in first. I'm sure the others won't mind if we're a bit late for breakfast."

It wasn't until after breakfast that Scabior started feeling sick. He didn't have much of an appetite, and after finishing his meal he felt slightly nauseous. The pain in his stomach had also gotten worse, going from a dull ache to a painful cramp directly behind his navel.

Holding his stomach as he got up from the table, Scabior glanced over at his wife, hoping she wouldn't notice his distress. The last thing he wanted was another lecture on his health and how he didn't take proper care of himself. He went outside and called his men out to join him. The weather outside was cold, and there was a layer of fresh snow on the ground. Most of his men had gone inside to stay warm. But the cold had little effect on Scabior, who was starting to feel a tad warm.

Once his men had gathered outside, Scabior began discussing this morning's plans with them, telling them who their latest target was and where to find her. He wasn't about to call off the search just because he had a stomachache. He set out into the woods with his men, and for a while everything was fine. But as the day progressed, Scabior's stomachache continued to worsen.

Within hours of leaving camp the pain intensified and moved to the lower right side of his abdomen. Walking and running only made it worse. And by the time they'd captured their target muggleborn, Scabior was on the verge of being sick as the remains of his breakfast began to rise in the back of his throat.

He tried to maintain a professional appearance, going through the usual routine of asking the woman's name and sorting out her identity, making sure that they'd snatched the right person. This muggleborn also happened to have a friend with her, which required more time to sort out because Scabior didn't know that there was anyone on the run with her.

According to the information he'd been given, she was supposed to be traveling alone. He hasn't expected anyone to be with her.

Scabior held out for as long as he could, fighting against the urge to be sick as he stood back and let Isaac interrogate the prisoners. The pain in his stomach had doubled since this morning, and any minute now he knew he was going to expel the contents of his stomach onto the forest floor.

He began backing away from his men, knowing that he was about to be sick. He didn't want to draw attention to himself. But as he ducked behind the nearest tree and began to vomit into some nearby bushes, Scabior knew that his men were well aware of what was happening. One of them even called out to him, asking him if he was alright.

"I'm fine," Scabior groaned, leaning with his back against the tree as he held his stomach. "I think something I ate disagreed with me. Maybe my breakfast was spoiled."

He hated them seeing him like this. He was their leader, the one they looked up to and took orders from. He wasn't supposed to get sick on the job, his insides twisting with such horrendous pain that he could hardly move.

Scabior narrowed his eyes, glaring at the many faces that were staring at him. "Do not, under any circumstances, tell my wife about this," he rasped, his body shaking with feverish chills as perspiration beaded on his brow and trickled down his cheek. "If you do, an I find out about it, I will flay your 'ide to doll rags for disobeying my orders."

When they returned to camp later that afternoon, Scabior still wasn't feeling any better.

He approached his tent, and cautiously eased aside the tent flap before peering inside. Scabior hoped his wife wasn't somewhere nearby so she wouldn't see what shape he was in. For although he had gotten better about going to her for some things, such as whenever he was coming down with another throat infection, he still avoided her and refused medical treatment when anything else was wrong with him.

Unfortunately, there was no getting away from Draconius today. And sure enough there she was, sitting in a chair in the living room reading a book.

She looked up from her book and smiled. "Scabior, you're home," she said pleasantly, happy to see that her husband had returned. But the smile quickly faded from her face when she saw that he was slightly bent over with one arm wrapped around his waist.

A low groan escaped his lips, and Draconius rose from her chair, looking at him with concern.

"Scabior, what's wrong?" she asked, reaching towards him to feel his forehead. "Your face looks a little flushed, sweetie."

Scabior ducked, dodging her attempt to check him for a fever. But the sudden movement caused a sharp pain to pierce his side, and he cried out, clutching his stomach as he bent over double.

It felt like a knife was stabbing and twisting his insides. And to make matters worse he felt a sudden wave of nausea rise up in his throat, along with whatever was left of his breakfast that hadn't been expelled earlier that morning.

This was too much. He had to get out of there. He couldn't allow his wife to see him like this. And any second now he was going to lose what little remained of his breakfast.

Scabior pushed past her, moving as quickly as his aching stomach would allow as he practically ran to the bathroom.

Falling to his knees in front of the toilet, Scabior just made it in time before he became violently ill. His body was shaking, sweat poured down his face, and every heave of his stomach felt like someone had focused the Cruciatus curse directly at his lower abdomen.

He collapsed onto his back when the vomiting ceased, lying there for several seconds as he fought against the growing darkness that was clouding the edges of his vision.

He'd never felt anything like this before. Scabior had been hungover from drinking too much, and he'd gotten sick from consuming too much alcohol, but this was different. He didn't know what this was. The words "stomach flu" and "food poisoning" drifted lazily through his mind as he lay on the bathroom floor, but he couldn't be sure if that was the cause of his suffering.

'Actual poisoning,' he thought. Scabior felt bad enough to consider it. 'But who in my lot could 'ave done it?"

Gripping the rim of the toilet with one hand, Scabior pulled himself off the floor into a sitting position. His sight was swimming and he was burning up with a fever. Maybe a cool shower would refresh him and make him feel better.

'Yes,' Scabior thought. 'Tha does sound good. But first I 'ave to wait for everything to stop spinning...'

He sat on the bathroom floor for several minutes, his head bowed and his eyes closed, trying to will the room to stop spinning long enough for him to stand.

When the dizziness finally passed, he stood up and started removing his clothes. He cautiously stepped into the shower, hoping he wouldn't suddenly become dizzy again, and turned on the water.

The cool water felt good against his feverishly hot skin. He let the water pour over his head, then cupped his hands, filling them with water and splashing himself in the face. Scabior breathed a sigh of relief, feeling his senses awakening as the water refreshed and revitalized him. Perhaps he wasn't so sick after all.

'I better 'ave a simple stomach flu,' he thought. 'If tha isn't it, then maybe all my drinking 'as finally caught up to me an my liver is starting to rot.'


	2. Chapter 2

Scabior emerged from the bathroom several minutes later. He had a towel in his hands, and was using it to dry his hair. His stomach still hurt, but at least he felt refreshed enough to pretend he was alright.

Draconius was glaring at him, her arms folded across her chest as he walked out of the bathroom. "You want to tell me what that was about?" she asked, a frown upon her face as she watched him dry his hair.

"I've 'ad a long day at work, pet. I needed a shower to relax an cool off."

"Cool off?" Draconius exclaimed. "It's twenty degrees outside! And it sounded like you were doing more than taking a shower. It sounded like you were getting sick in there."

"Well, you're wrong," he said, leaning in close and getting in her face. "I'm perfectly fine. There's nothing wrong with me."

Scabior had regained enough of his usual attitude that his act sounded convincing, and now Draconius didn't know what to make of his behavior.

"Like I said, pet, I've 'ad a long day an I'm tired." Scabior threw his towel at her and turned towards the bedroom. "I'm going to bed early tonight. I will see you in the morning."

\-----------------------

It was late. Draconius didn't know what time it was, or how much time had passed since she'd gone to bed. All she knew was that something had woken her from her sleep.

Scabior was beside her in bed, his arms wrapped around his torso as he lay curled in a ball on his side. When Draconius heard him moan she knew immediately what had woken her up, and with a wave of her wand she relit the candles on the dresser so she could see what was wrong.

His eyes squeezed shut against the pain, Scabior grit his teeth and groaned. His breathing was coming in short, shallow gasps, and he was drenched with sweat. He'd reached the point where he could barely move, and each breath he took was a struggle, for even the slightest movement intensified the pain.

His body shuddered in an effort to breathe painlessly as sweat cascaded down his fevered brow. Scabior had never felt pain or sickness like this before, and he wondered how a simple case of stomach flu could possibly cause this much pain.

"Scabior, what's wrong?" Draconius asked, looking at him with concern as he shuddered and moaned.

He opened his eyes, half glancing at her over his shoulder. Even now he looked hesitant to tell her what was bothering him.

"Listen to me, Scabior," Draconius said, her voice a calm, comforting tone. This was the voice she often used on frightened patients, mostly children who were scared and needed some gentle coaxing before they allowed her to treat them. "I want to help in whatever way I can. But in order for me to do that, you have to tell me what's wrong. Please, let me help you."

"It's my stomach," said Scabior, looking up at her through strands of damp, sweat soaked hair that hung limp across his face. He swallowed hard, trying to will the pain away as best as he could. "I've felt sick since this morning... I threw up while I was in the woods..." His sentence trailed off into a pained groan. He wrapped his arms more tightly around his waist, drawing his knees up to his chest as he curled in on himself.

"Is there anything else?" Draconius asked.

"Pain..." Scabior gasped. "It feels like something 'as torn open or ripped apart inside of me..."

Scabior felt the mattress shift as his wife stood up. He could hear her going through the drawers in her medicine chest. Moments later, he felt her arm slip beneath his side. She placed her other hand on his shoulder, and then tried to gently roll him over onto his back.

A scream tore from his lips as a piercing pain stabbed him in the side.

"Shh, quiet now. It's alright, Scabior," his wife soothed. She carefully eased him over onto his back, then uncorked a potion bottle and held it to his lips. "Here. Drink this."

Scabior swallowed the potion, hoping it was something that would help relieve his stomachache. His wife then left the room, returning a short while later with a bucket and a cold compress.

She set the bucket beside the bed, making sure she was prepared in case Scabior got sick again. She then placed the damp washcloth on Scabior's forehead, then cast a spell that would enable her to check his temperature.

"Farhen Temporo," she muttered, and thin whisps of red smoke issued from the tip of her wand, weaving and snaking through the air as they formed the numbers 102° in the air above her husband.

"One hundred and two," she said, frowning slightly as she looked at the readout before the numbers began to fade after a few seconds. "I suspect you have the stomach flu. Which should clear up on its own in one to three days."

"Days?" As bad as he felt now, Scabior couldn't imagine feeling like this for another day or two.

His hand closed around the thick comforter on the bed, gripping the material and balling it up in his fist over his stomach. The pained expression on his face made it clear that he was absolutely miserable.

Draconius sat down on the bed beside him. She brushed his hair out of his face, stroking his hair as she tried to calm and comfort him. "The potion I gave you should help with your stomachache," she said. "It'll take a few minutes for you to feel the effects. But you should be alright in a while, sweetie. Just give it time for the potion to start working."

\----------------------

Draconius stayed awake, sitting up with her husband as she tried her best to care for him. But the pain relieving potion wasn't working, and he was sick several times throughout the evening. His temperature continued to rise, and nothing she did provided him with any relief.

Scabior sat on the side of the bed, the bucket on the floor between his feet. His wife sat beside him on the bed, rubbing his back as he began to vomit what little fluids he'd had to drink that evening.

Draconius had tried giving him some water, telling him that he needed to drink something so he didn't get dehydrated. Scabior drank a few small sips of water, but even that came back up a short while later.

Nothing was helping, and Draconius was getting worried. She wondered if there was something else causing his pain, something she might have overlooked.

Scabior moaned, his agonized cries growing louder as he doubled over on the side of the bed. He was shaking violently, his hair sticking to the perspiration that coated his neck and face.

His wife watched him for a minute, desperatly trying to figure out what was wrong with him. She saw that he had both hands over the lower right side of his abdomen, and suddenly she realized that this wasn't a simple case of stomach flu. This was something much worse.

"Scabior, I need you to do something for me," said Draconius, trying to keep the anxiety out of her voice as she spoke. If this was what she thought it was, then Scabior was in serious trouble, and no amount of pain relieving potions would fix what was wrong with him. "I need you to lay down on your back so I can examine your stomach. Can you do that for me?"

"I can try," Scabior faintly murmured.

He had to move slowly in order to avoid losing consciousness, his abdomen protesting against his movements as he began to ease himself onto his back. But the pain was too great, and he had difficulty raising his legs and feet up onto the mattress.

"Here, let me help you," said Draconius, as she carefully helped him onto his back.

The room was spinning and his vision was starting to blur. Scabior let his body collapse onto the mattress as his wife helped him lie down, the strength going out of his limbs as darkness once again began to creep into the corners of vision. He was closer to losing consciousness than ever before, and long about now he felt the darkness might be a welcome relief from the pain he was feeling.

Draconius began to coax Scabior's hands away from his abdomen, then gently eased his plaid pajama bottoms down past his waist, exposing his flat, muscle ridged stomach. "I'm going to press on your stomach," she said. "Tell me if anything I do hurts."

Scabior descended into constant moaning as his wife probed his stomach. She began by palpating his upper abdomen, slowly making her way down. When she pressed on the lower right side of his abdomen, the resulting scream was enough to tell her all she needed to know.

She combed her fingers back through his hair, trying to soothe him as he continued to whimper and moan. "It's alright, sweetie," she said softly. "Shh, shh, I'm done now. It's okay."

Scabior tried to say something, but his words dribbled out as a low groan. His eyes rolled back and his head lolled to the side, and for a moment his wife thought he'd passed out.

"Scabior?" She watched him, waiting for a response. "Scabior, can you hear me?"

Several seconds passed before Scabior began to stir, slowly coming to as his senses gradually returned.

"I'm sorry..." he mumbled thickly. "I...I think I blacked out..."

Her expression changed to one of sympathy and concern. She was worried about him, and knew that if he didn't receive treatment soon there was a good chance that he could die. "I've figured out what's wrong, Scabior," she said. "And I've come to the conclusion that you don't have the stomach flu."

"I don't?" He looked somewhat surprised to hear this.

Draconius shook her head. "No, sweetie. You have appendicitis. And this isn't something you can ignore the way you usually do when you're sick. You have to let me treat his, Scabior."

"Are you going to take out my appendix?" Scabior asked. He seemed rather uneasy at the thought of having surgery, and he honestly didn't know how she would be able to do it without slicing him open like a lump of beef.

He knew that magical operations were performed with a complex series of spells. The patient was given a sleeping draught, and the healer would complete the operation in a matter of minutes. Most magical surgery was noninvasive, but since he'd never had an operation before, Scabior didn't know what to expect with something like this.

"I don't think that will be necessary," said Draconius. "I'm a healer, not one of those medimuggles who resorts to surgery every time someone gets a fart up their arse sideways. I'm going to try treating the infection first. I will only operate if the initial treatment fails, or if I feel there is a good chance that your appendix is going to rupture."

"An 'ow do you know it 'as'nt already ruptured?"

"Trust me, Scabior. If it did, you'd be the first to know."


	3. Chapter 3

"Due to the severity of your condition and the type of illness that you have, I'm going to need some specialized equipment in order to treat the infection," said Draconius, as she sifted through packets of herbs and potion bottles in her supply cabinet.

She was sitting on the floor of their bedroom with her back to Scabior, her husband watching apprehensively as she searched the cabinet.

Draconius kept all of her medical supplies well organized in three different places. The herbs and potions she used most often were kept close at hand in her medical bag. This was where she kept the antibiotics and pain relieving potions she used to treat Scabior's frequent throat infections.

Items that she used less often, such as herbs for wounds and potions to relieve her husband's hangover, were kept in a medicine chest that she kept tucked away in a corner of the closet. She also kept a variety of potions for other ailments here, such as potions for treating colds, allergies, headaches, and ear infections.

The items that she rarely used were kept in her supply cabinet, which was a storage area for spare potion ingredients as well as a place for infrequently used potions and herbs.

Scabior wondered what she was looking for. The last time he'd seen her get into her supply cabinet was when she was pregnant and needed something for morning sickness, and that was nearly four years ago.

"Ah yes, this is what I was looking for." Draconius held up a large jar, examining it in the candlelight. "Hirundo medicinalis. Just need to give them a tap to wake them from their sleep."

Scabior couldn't make out what was in the jar. All he could see was a blob of blackish-grey sludge that appeared to have coagulated on the bottom of the jar.

Draconius held the jar in her left hand and gave it a tap with her wand. The sludge on the bottom of the jar began to wriggle and squirm like some type of grotesque lava lamp.

Something about the movements of the writhing forms in the jar made Scabior's insides twist into an uncomfortable knot. And as he watched, it became clear that these weren't simply moving strands of animated mucus. These were leeches, kept in a state of suspended animation until his wife needed them.

"Leeches?" Scabior said, his eyes widening at the sight of the squirming mass in the jar. "Wha are you going to do with those?"

"These are for your treatment," Draconius replied. "They're magical leeches, and they can drain the infection out of you in a matter of minutes. See, this is why leeches have been used in medicine since ancient times. Muggles saw witches using them, and decided to incorporate them into their medical practices. Unfortunately, they didn't know how or where to acquire magical leeches. So their treatments aren't as effective as ours."

His pain momentarily forgotten, Scabior sat up in bed, pulling the covers up to his chest as he backed into the corner. "You are not putting those things on me," he said, cringing as a particularly large leech swam past in the jar.

"Why not?" Draconius asked. "They're just leeches."

"No, they're 'orrible abominations of nature, an you are not using them on me!"

Draconius didn't understand why her husband was behaving this way. She'd seen him refuse medical treatment before, but not like this. Maybe if she explained to him how the illness was treated, he'd see how important leeches were and allow her to use them on him.

"Magical leeches are part of the standard treatment for patients with appendicitis," Draconius explained. "One twenty minute session is enough to significantly lower the levels of infection in your blood, which decreases the likelihood of your appendix rupturing. Patients are then given intravenous anti-infection potions for twelve to twentyfour hours to clear up any lingering signs of infection, and a spell is used to remove the blockage that caused the infection."

Scabior backed further away, pressing himself into the corner with the blankets drawn up around him. His pulse was erratic and he was starting to shake. He looked like a frightened animal that had been cornered and was desperately searching for a way to escape.

With the jar of leeches still in her hand, Draconius came forward and sat down on the foot of the bed.

"Scabior, are you alright?"

"No, I'm not," he said, burying his face in the corner as he turned away from the sight of the squirming creatures in the jar on Draconius' lap. "An I won't be until you get those bloody things away from me."

"If you're uncomfortable with the treatment, I could give you a sedative if you think it'll help."

"Wha part of 'I don't want those fucking things near me' do you not understand?" Scabior shouted, one hand holding his stomach while the palm of his other hand was pressed flat against the wall. There was panic in his voice, and he had begun to hyperventilate.

Scabior was having a panic attack. Like muggles in the non-magical world who have a fear of needles, Scabior had a fear of leeches. Both needles and leeches were used to draw blood from the body. And in a world where needles didn't exist and weren't used in medical procedures, some people developed a fear of leeches instead.

The only problem was that Scabior's fear had been left to grow in secret for several years, until it became a true phobia, one that caused him to avoid necessary medical treatments and checkups because he was terrified of leeches.

Suddenly it all made sense. Draconius now knew why Scabior often refused medical care and hid from her whenever he was sick.

Looking back on things, she realized that the signs were always there. She just hadn't seen them for what they really were. She remembered how Scabior had become suddenly fearful when she told him she was studying to become a healer, and how he started avoiding her after she'd graduated and begun her internship at St. Mungo's hospital.

He stopped seeing her after that, and for a while she feared that he had broken up with her. Months went by before Scabior got up the courage to resume dating her. And yet he still wouldn't set foot inside the hospital. He always waited for her outside, never going within twenty feet of the building.

It made Draconius wonder how he'd been able to marry her, seeing as how she worked in the medical field and was essentially a part of everything he feared. But now was not the time for that. She'd think about it later when her husband wasn't in urgent need of medical attention.

Draconius quickly returned the jar in her lap to the supply cabinet. One of the first things she learned during her training was to immediately back off if one of her patients felt overwhelmed by fear or anxiety. Magical patients - even ones who were seriously ill or in pain - could be dangerous. And more than once Draconius had had curses hurled at her by frightened patients.

"Scabior," Draconius said, keeping a safe distance as she stood at the foot of the bed. "You need to calm yourself. You're going to pass out or make yourself sick."

"Just get away from me!" Scabior said between rapid gasps of air. "I knew...when I married...you...tha this...would 'appen...one day." He could only manage to say a few words at a time as he continued to hyperventilate in the corner of their bedroom.

"Scabior, listen to me," she said in a calm but firm tone. "You're going to be alright. It's okay. But I need you to slow your breathing. I'm going to count to three. When I do, I want you to inhale to the count of three, then hold your breath until I start counting again. You can do this. It's going to be alright, Scabior. Just calm yourself and breathe."

She began to count, and Scabior followed her instructions, breathing in as she counted to three, then pausing before exhaling.

"That's it," said Draconius. "And in, one...two...three. And out, one...two...three. Good. Again, Scabior. In, one...two...three. Out, one...two...three."

His heart was pounding so hard that Scabior felt certain it would burst long before his appendix did. His hands were shaking, his chest felt tight and it was difficult to breathe. But with his wife's gentle coaxing, his breathing gradually began to return to normal.

Once she had helped him reestablish a regular breathing pattern, Draconius moved closer and sat down beside him on the bed. She continued talking to him, talking him through his panic attack as she worked to calm and reassure him that everything was alright.

Scabior leaned against the wall, sliding down it until he was lying on his back in bed. He suddenly felt very tired, and he was beginning to notice the pain in his side again.

"Are you alright, sweetie?" Draconius asked.

"Wha do you think?" Scabior moaned, his hand returning to his stomach.

Draconius sighed. "I'm sorry, Scabior. I didn't know you have a leech phobia."

"I don't 'ave a phobia," Scabior huffed, feeling somewhat offended by her choice of words. "I just don't like slimy, repulsive things tha suck my blood."

This man was incorrigible.

"If you don't have a phobia, then why did you have a panic attack when I brought out my jar of leeches?" Draconius queried.

"Alright," Scabior grumbled. "Maybe I am afraid of some things. But doesn't everyone 'ave some kind of fear? It's wha makes us 'uman."

"It isn't good, though, Scabior. When a person has an extreme phobia that prevents them from getting proper medical care, it can be very damaging to their health." She paused, the nagging question of how he'd gotten the courage to marry her still lingering in the back of her mind.

"Why did you marry me?" she asked. "Or better yet, how did you get the courage to marry someone like me?"

"I married you because I love you," said Scabior. "Yes, I 'ave a fear of certain places an things... If I were to be perfectly 'onest with myself, I'm afraid of leeches, 'ospitals, surgery, and most medical procedures. But my love for you is greater than my fear. Tha's why I came back even after you started working at St. Mungo's. I came back because I love you, an I didn't want my fear to keep us apart."

Draconius was deeply moved by his words. She was just about to comment on his heartfelt statement when Scabior let out a pained cry, doubling over on his side as he held his stomach. This brought Draconius back to reality, and reminded her that she still needed to treat her husband before his appendix burst.

"We need to figure out an alternative treatment, one that doesn't involve leech therapy," said Draconius.

"Please tell me you can fix this without cutting me open," said Scabior, the frightened look in his eyes begging her not to operate on him. "Please, pet. I can't go through tha. I can't." He winced, gritting his teeth as another sharp surge of pain pierced his side.

If Draconius waited too long, she would have no choice but to operate on him. This had to be treated now, before Scabior passed the point where antibiotics would be of any use to him.

"I can try treating the infection with anti-infection potions," said Draconius. "But intravenous treatment alone isn't always as effective. It's also a slower, more painful process. Would you rather we do it that way?"

"Yes," said Scabior. "Tha I think I can 'andle."


	4. Chapter 4

Administering potions intravenously in the wizarding world wasn't like in the muggle world where needles, tubes and plastic bags filled with fluids were used. None of those things existed in the wizarding world. So healers had to invent a different way of administering potions intravenously to their patients.

Draconius began by carefully measuring two different types of anti-infection potions, making sure the dosage amounts were correct before combining them in a large jar on the nightstand.

Scabior was lying in bed, propped up on a mound of pillows, watching as his wife took a bottle containing a thin, clear fluid and poured some of it onto a cottonball. She instructed him to position his left arm so that his palm was facing up. He complied with her request, and Draconius began dabbing the moist cottonball on his wrist.

"I'm surprised you can do this, Scabior," she said, rubbing the clear fluid into his skin. "There are a lot of people who can't stomach this kind of treatment. I've had more patients refuse this than I've had patients who are afraid of leeches."

"Thanks, I needed tha," Scabior replied, his tone laced with sarcasm.

Draconius held Scabior's forearm, her wand positioned a few inches above his wrist. "Hold still, Scabior. This is going to hurt, but you'll only feel it for a minute. And whatever you do, don't move."

A sharp hiss of pain escaped his lips as his wife used a cutting hex to make an incision in his wrist. She then cast a charm to send the potion from the jar directly into a vein in his wrist.

A thin trickle of the turquoise potion rose from the jar on the nightstand, snaking its way through the air and entering the incision. There was a mild burning sensation as the potion entered his vein through the incision, and Scabior winced and drew back as his wife cleaned the blood off his wrist with a wad of cotton.

"Alright. That's it, Scabior," said Draconius. "Now all we have to do is wait, and hope this is enough to clear up the infection."

She came around to her side of the bed and sat down beside him. "You should get some rest, sweetie. I'll be right here if anything goes wrong."

Scabior said nothing, one hand across his aching belly as he looked at her with eyes full of pain. He didn't know how much more of this he could take.

"You're going to be alright," said Draconius. "I know how strong you are. You can get through this. I know you can."

Scabior sighed wearily. He let his gaze drift towards the ceiling. He'd been through so much tonight. How much longer would this go on? How much longer until he was dead? This illness was surely killing him. Everything about what he felt told him he was dying.

He would have a long fight ahead of him, one that would push him to the limits of his endurance. And before the night was through, Scabior would have to fight for his life as pain and illness threatened to consume him.

This illness would take everything from him, including his pride, dignity and strength. But he'd be damned if he let it take his life.

Scabior closed his eyes. He couldn't stay awake any longer, nor could he fall asleep. Not like this, not with the amount of pain he was in. But he'd try to rest, and hope that it wouldn't be long until he began to feel relief from the stabbing pain in his side.

\-------------------

One long minute passed after the next. One more second, one more drop of anti-infection potion flowing into his veins. Drop by drop, second by second, the night slowly passed.

Scabior slipped into a semiconscious, dreamlike state where everything was dark, and all he was aware of was the pain he was in. Every now and then he would feel his wife's touch, as she wiped the sweat off his face with a damp washcloth, as she checked his pulse and made sure he was still breathing. But her touch felt far away, like something disconnected from his body in another place and time.

His temperature began to rise, and he slipped farther down into a world of pain and darkness, into his own private Hell. His wife didn't like what she was seeing. If she let him slip too far, she might not be able to call him back.

She pointed her wand at his chest, and in a sudden flash it all came rushing back to him, every pain, every sensation, every sense of reality that told him his very existence had been reduced to a burning, agonizing nightmare.

There was a brief pause, just long enough for Scabior to draw breath, before a scream tore from his lungs, and a blinding pain threatened to plunge him back into darkness once more.

"It's alright, Scabior. It's alright... Oh Merlin, look at you."

He clung to his wife, barely hearing her words, unaware of the hot tears that streamed down his cheeks, gasping, struggling to breathe as she placed the palm of her hand against his forehead.

"You can't go on like this, Scabior. Your fever is spiking, and your temperature is way too high. I'm worried that your appendix might burst, so I'm going to have to remove it before things get any worse."

"No," Scabior breathed. "No, please..." He tightened his hold on her, his fingernails digging into her arm.

"It'll be alright, Scabior. It's not what you think. I can operate without opening you up the way muggles do."

He was coming apart in her arms, consumed by fever and fear. He protested her actions, whimpering and moaning as she gently laid him down on his back.

"Scabior, please, listen to me. You said your love for me is greater than your fear, and that you didn't want your fear to keep us apart. If you don't have this operation, you will die. And I don't want your fear to keep us apart either."

Somehow her words managed to penetrate the haze of fever and fear that was clouding his mind. Scabior heard her, and he knew she was right. He couldn't let this take her away from him. He had to keep living, for her, for his daughter. He had too much to live for, and he had to keep fighting for them.

"Will you let me do this?" Draconius asked.

Scabior swallowed hard and nodded. He was ready.

Draconius went over to her medicine chest, and removed a bottle of sleeping draught from one if its compartments. She poured the thick, black liquid into a spoon, and he opened his mouth, allowing her to feed him the potion.

"I think you were right," said Scabior, his voice low and drowsy, his words slurred from the effects of the potion. "You said I'd be the first to know if my appendix ruptured. If tha's wha this is...if this is wha it feels like...then I'm surprised I'm not already dead."

Draconius held his hand in both of hers, feeling him tremble beneath her touch. "You aren't going to die, Scabior. I won't let you. I love you too much to let you go."

Those were the last words he heard before he passed into unconsciousness.

Draconius was silent, gazing down at her husband's still form. He was scarcely breathing, and his skin had turned a sickly shade of pale ashen grey. She blinked her eyes, and tears spilled down her cheeks.

"Scabior..." she whispered.

Perhaps he was closer to death than she realized.

She had to act fast. With tears in her eyes, she pulled the covers back on the bed, folding them over so that only Scabior's legs were covered by the blankets.

"I won't lose you," she said, though he had passed beyond the point where he could still hear her. "I can't. You're not going to leave me."

She eased his pajama bottoms down below his stomach, then pointed her wand at his abdomen. "Ostendo viscus," she said, moving her wand over his abdomen in a straight line from top to bottom.

The skin covering his abdominal organs became transparent, allowing her to see inside his body and view his internal organs.

It didn't take long for her to locate the source of his discomfort. Scabior's appendix was badly inflamed, making it easy for her to find the infected organ that lay nestled between rows of tightly coiled intestines.

She inhaled a deep, calming breath, steadying her hand as she positioned her wand over the lower right side of his abdomen. She had to remain calm and focus on the task at hand.

"Diffindo appendicula," she murmured, swiping her wand through the air over his belly.

The severing charm sliced clean through his appendix, cutting it off at its base without even making an incision in his abdomen.

"Evanesco appedicula."

A second wave of her wand, and the offending organ had vanished, leaving behind a bleeding hole where the organ was once attached to Scabior's intestinal tract.

Draconius moved her wand in a slow, circular motion over the lower right side of his abdomen. "Percuratus," she softly murmured, and within seconds the open wound that marked the place where his appendix had been was magically healed. She then waved her wand one last time, removing the spell that made the skin over his abdomen transparent.

She slumped against the headboard, her body weary from stress and exhaustion, the reality of what she'd done slowly sinking into her mind. Her wand slipped from her fingers, rolling onto the mattress as she turned and looked at her sleeping husband.

It was over. It was finally over, and Scabior was going to be alright. But the reality of it all was almost too much to comprehend. For this wasn't just any patient she had operated on, this was Scabior. This was her husband, the father of her child.

She sat in silence, watching his chest rise and fall with slow, shallow breathing. She may have saved his life, but the infection had taken its toll in him, and he would need time to recover.

Draconius slid his pajama bottoms up over his stomach, then covered him with the blanket, leaving his left arm exposed because he was still receiving intravenous antibiotics. She rechecked his vital signs, noting that his temperature still hovered around 103°. She would have to give him something for his fever once he woke up.

\----------------

Scabior was asleep for a full twenty minutes before he began to come to. He awoke slowly, blinking and gazing around the room in a groggy haze, not fully aware of himself or his surroundings.

It took him a couple minutes to realize where he was, and that his wife was beside him. He tried to speak, but his speech was garbled due to the effects of the sleeping draught, and most of what he said was muttered nonsense as his eyes closed and he drifted back to sleep.

Scabior dozed off twice before the sleeping draught wore off enough that he could remain awake and alert for more than a few minutes at a time. Once he was awake, his wife gave him a brief checkup, evaluating his overall health and giving him a potion to help lower his fever.

"All things considered, I'd say you're doing well, Scabior," said Draconius. "Now, if I can just get your fever under control everything will be fine."

She dipped a washcloth into a bowl of water and dabbed at his forehead and cheeks, trying to cool him off while she waited for the potion to start working.

Scabior sighed and closed his eyes, the cool water helping to soothe the heat in his feverishly hot skin. He was quiet for several minutes, and for a while Draconius thought he'd fallen asleep again.

"Pet," he murmured, his eyes stil closed as he spoke. "I've been thinking, an I've come to the conclusion tha I shouldn't 'ide from you when I'm ill. From now on I will tell you when I don't feel well, an I will let you care for me when I'm sick."

His wife looked at him in astonishment. Was he being serious? Or was that the fever talking?

"Honey," she said at length, wiping the sweat from his face with the damp washcloth. "Are you aware of what you're saying to me?"

"Yes." He opened his eyes and looked up at her. "I've learned from this experience. I learned tha keeping secrets from you could kill me. An when I said I didn't want my fear to keep us apart, I meant it."

His hand trembled slightly as he reached to touch her face, cupping her cheek as he gazed into her olive green eyes. "I love you, pet," he said. "If letting you care for me is wha it takes, if it keeps me alive, if it keeps me 'ere with you, then so be it."

Draconius smiled, and placed her hand over his own. "So you finally learned your lesson, Scabior."

"I may be stubborn, but I'm not stupid," he told her. "I can tell when something is killing me an I need to stop. Besides," he added, letting his hand sink back down onto the bed, "if you think I'm going to die an give up on my family, then you are sorely mistaken. I'm not going anywhere, pet. I'm staying 'ere with you."


End file.
